


Trolley

by 3x3



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, M/M, can you believe i put off writing this for i kid you not; months?, just to clarify this story has nothing to do with the wax figure i just wanted to ask that question, not outright romantic because they're both weirdos but there are shippy undertones i guess, what's up with the wax figure in your room huh ouma huh?????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3x3/pseuds/3x3
Summary: “Are you familiar with the trolley problem, Amami-chan?”
Relationships: Amami Rantaro & Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	Trolley

**Author's Note:**

> I've lost control of them the second Ouma started speaking, which , coincidentally, is the very first sentence of this story. *hits head against wall*  
> With that as the forward, dear reader, safely assume that I am nothing more than a puppet catering to the boys' every whim.

“Are you familiar with the trolley problem, Amami-chan?”

Rantarou blinks, and feels his usual smile sliding onto his face easily.

“Ah.” he laughs, even though there’s nothing funny about their conversation. Yet. “The ethical dilemma?”

“You read!” Ouma grins from ear to ear. “Lucky for you, I like well-read men.”

“Lucky for me.” he nods in agreement.

* * *

The trick with talking with Ouma is to not think too deep. So many are confused by him because they try too hard to latch onto Ouma’s train of thought, to match his quick mind that takes three steps in two strides; so they get lost, and when you get lost in a conversation with Ouma, there’s most likely no coming back. That isn’t to say that Rantarou doesn’t think at all. That would be impolite. He thinks, he just never lets himself be too swept up in the tide he does not control. He thinks, he just won’t attempt to cling to Ouma’s every word in a quest to piece the puzzle together.

Ouma doesn’t make puzzles. He makes half of a hat, then pulls a tiger out of it.

“Well then,” Ouma’s grin takes a sharper twist. “Do you think I would pull the lever or not?”

You see? A typical follow-up to that would be, _should be_ , **_Would you pull the lever?_** but Ouma is not typical by any means, and while some may be disturbed, compelled to stay in the lead, Rantarou is not.

Because this isn’t shogi, where you always need to be ten steps ahead of your opponent. This is talking to a boy, where all you need to be is present. Rantarou doesn’t know how to play shogi, but he knows how to talk.

So this is the lesson learned here: if he is prepared for nothing, then he is prepared for everything.

“Hmm.” he says, dipping the little brush back into the nail polish container. He lets it soak for a brief moment, before pulling it back up and scraping off the excess at the rim of the bottle. He paints a pretty purple coat over Ouma’s remaining bare nail on his left hand. “I don’t know. Would you?”

“Hey. I’m the one asking the questions here.” Ouma frowns. He is very expressive. When he frowns, his face looks like it would cave in on itself. He is expressive, but he is much less genuine, so Rantarou simply blows on the freshly painted nail.

“That doesn’t stop me from _also_ being the one asking questions.” he says, careful not to frame it as a question.

Rantarou gets the feeling that they might be playing a game here. He absent-mindedly notes that knowing the rules would be nice.

He gets more certain of this hypothesis when Ouma makes a large show out of thinking about it.

“Hmm” he says, furrowing his brows so hard that Rantarou thinks he might pull a muscle. “ _Hmm_.” And really, Ouma is nothing if not showy. His eyes are narrowed into tiny slits when he grudgingly recedes, “Amami-chan has a point.”

For someone who doesn’t know the rules, Rantarou is surprisingly quick to adapt to the game.

“Would you, then?”

“Would I what?”

“Pull the lever.” Rantarou reminds him.

“Well, would I?” Ouma smiles with all his teeth, nudging his right hand in front of Rantarou, signaling him to start on the paint job. So he complies.

Ouma’s fingers are calloused. It’s a little surprising, because he doesn’t look like the type at all, but Rantarou doesn’t comment on it, choosing to focus on the nails instead.

“So?” Ouma is not letting the topic drop. “What do you think?”

“I think that whatever I think would be wrong in some aspect.” Rantarou admits defeat easily. “Because it depends on the situation. Who are the people on the tracks? Friends? Family? Complete strangers? Do they hold equal weight in your heart? I’m not you. I wouldn’t know what your trolley problem looks like.” Defeat is meaningless anyway, because they were never playing a game to start with.

“What my trolley problem looks like, huh?” Ouma beams, bright and cheerful. “Well, it’s Amami-chan of course! Most beloved Amami-chan.” He is smiling, but it’s full of vigor. The aggression is palpable. It’s all very contradictory.

“Me, and?” Rantarou asks.

Ouma flutters his eyelids melodramatically, and raises his voice by an entire octave. “Why, that would be a secret, dear Amami-chan. A man’s gotta keep a few mysteries wrapped around him to stay interesting.” He tilts his head, and Rantarou has the feeling that if not for the fact that his hands were occupied at the moment, he would boop Rantarou on the nose. “You would know. You’re cloaked with mysteries.”

He didn’t expect the conversation to land back on himself. It’s startling, and there’s a stumble in his concentration, before responding, “I didn’t mean for it to be this way.” This is the truth.

Ouma retorts with a snicker. “Yet it is anyway.” This is also the truth.

He hums in acknowledgement. He’s not about to deny it. Rantarou has more self-awareness of that. It isn’t that he _wants_ to keep so many secrets to himself, it’s that he can’t afford not to. And he _does_ share things about himself, or at least he tries to, but one doesn’t become a survivor by blabbing all his weaknesses for the world to know.

To make up for it somehow, he tries to be warm to all, but it’s a strictly contained warmth held at a distance. It’s only at a distance that Rantarou can keep himself, and those around him safe. It’s obvious that Ouma does the same- keeping others at a distance, that is. Maybe this is why they get along surprisingly well. This, and that Rantarou has cracked the code to talking with Ouma.

“Your nails are done.” He announces, and Ouma cheers with a disproportionate enthusiasm.

“And this is why you’re my favorite, Amami-chan!” he exclaims, examining his newly manicured fingers under the white light.

It doesn’t matter either way, but part of him childishly hopes that Ouma would not pull the lever. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course, because as Ouma said, a man’s gotta keep a few mysteries wrapped around him to stay interesting.

And Rantarou knows for a fact that Ouma likes things kept interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> My friend said that I should write them talking about prisoner's dilemma next and on one hand it sounds interesting, on the other hand i'm tired of not understanding what the fuck ouma is trying to say why is he like this  
> for more of my writing i can be found on my writing blog [here](https://aechteaseawb.tumblr.com/)


End file.
